


trembling, young, wounded mammal

by brotherfuckersanonymous



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-19 22:40:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17610386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brotherfuckersanonymous/pseuds/brotherfuckersanonymous
Summary: Jerome suddenly realizes, even as he’s pulling her hair back and digging his fingernails into her shoulder, that he has to kill her.





	trembling, young, wounded mammal

**Author's Note:**

> this is gross and bad, sorry. it’s also set shortly before the blind fortune teller. the title is from dilemma by death grips.

Jerome suddenly realizes, even as he’s pulling her hair back and digging his fingernails into her shoulder, that he has to kill her.

This isn’t much of a breaking point. Not really. It’s actually pretty lame for a breaking point, considering that this has happened eight times before throughout the span of three years and it should’ve just led a normal person to a tearful _“I can’t take this anymore”_ , but hearing Lila gasp and swear when she feels the strain on her scalp in her fake whisky-Gypsy breath of a voice is what finally pierces through the fine, cracked glass in Jerome’s psyche.

He’s going to kill her. It’s firm and it’s real and it’s concrete. He’s actually going to do it. He doesn’t know when, because he’ll need time to plan it. Maybe when they go to another city. They’re going to Gotham next, a city supposedly rife with dysfunction and violence, so he can do it underneath the smoke. He has to kill her there, Jerome thinks, because if he doesn’t, he’ll keep putting it off and a house will only continue to get worse if you put off spring cleaning.

And this’ll happen again. You know. If he doesn’t. Jerome bites the crook of Lila’s neck, his fingers sinking into her stomach. Lila cries out like the overused slut she is, begging for more, telling him to fuck her harder. She’s a fucking disgusting husk of a woman, so full of herself and her own body that she can’t imagine a single relationship without sex in it. Which is why she’s a little nicer to him now than she was before he turned fifteen, because after he hit his growth spurt, she figured it was less morally abhorrent to start inhaling her son’s dick. Because she didn’t like him anyway. Jerome’s actually sort of glad Jeremiah had gotten out of this veritable hell when he did, because Lila liked him so much more. Jeremiah would’ve woken up on his twelfth birthday with Lila’s false-nail-bedazzled fingers wrapped around his little cock.

Jeremiah. With a rush of excitement and curiosity, Jerome thinks about what Jeremiah would think of Lila’s premature passing. He wonders how upset he’d be, or if he’d be upset at all. Does Jeremiah even still care about his only family? A better question is if he’d cared about them in the first place. Jeremiah is—or was, at least—a brilliant little actor. (Not as good as Jerome, but still good.)

Jerome misses Jeremiah. It’s actually a little twisting knife wound in his chest that hasn’t disappeared, just diminished a little overtime since Jeremiah left. Jerome wouldn’t easily admit it to anyone, but, yeah, he misses him. He misses pulling hair with the intent to tease and innocent, experimental kisses and poking and hitting and watching the bruises and bites he made heal on soft, young, freckled skin. Lila took his baby brother from him and used herself as a replacement for that void. It’s cruel and unusual. It’s the most horrible, despicable thing Jerome can think of to do to a child. She honestly really deserves to die and he’s going to kill her. That way, everyone can focus on their fucking idiot rivalries and animal cruelty and sick relationships and they don’t have to worry about the snake charmer being a drunken, abusive, soulless whore and covering it up so there’s less talk, less drama, less reasons for anyone to pity Jerome.

If Jerome doesn’t kill Lila, someone else will first, because she’s got a fetish for guys who hit her and push her around and choke her out and step on her. Jerome knows. He knows because she makes him do it to her when she’s so shitfaced she can barely feel anything else and he’s heard it happen from his place under the bed, eight years old and shivering and tearful because they locked the door without remembering he was hiding, curled up and listening to his mother sob and beg as skin hit skin. Lila is a danger to herself. Ordinarily, you’d have people like that committed, but Jerome is merciful. This will be a mercy killing.

Once he kills her, he’ll be fucking free. He can get out of this place. He’ll run to fucking Broadway. He’ll be famous. Jerome is a performer, he knows he is, he just needs a stage. He was born to be an entertainer, but Lila and everyone else in this godforsaken shithole circus have forced him to be an underling from birth. Jerome has to burn it down and rise from the ashes.

_Your fault. Your fault. Your fault._ Jerome’s hand comes up and grabs Lila’s throat as his hips stutter, his knees weak and trembling. He’s not going to pull out. She’s going to die anyway. Lila shouts, choked off from a closed-off throat, overdramatic to the end (a fortunate/unfortunate trait Jerome inherited from her), forcing out his name from her ever-open mouth. _Your fault._ Jerome’s fingers loosen from her throat, slack and twitching as he pants against the back of her neck, letting out a shaking moan that makes him sound younger and more vulnerable than he really is. _Your fault._ He hates it. _Your fault._

It’s not like Jerome wants to stay inside her any longer than he has to. He pulls away and Lila spills, looking used and abused, gaping, burning. She uses blown-out limbs to turn herself over on the couch, sweat and saliva wearing her makeup off.

“I only told you to do one thing,” Lila says, breathless and cut-up. With fumbling fingers, she grabs at the pack of cigarettes and the lighter on the side table next to them, settled on top of in-depth notes of care routines for animals she’ll always treat better than her offspring. “And you didn’t even bother.” She lights the cigarette and there’s no open window. _Bitch_. “I don’t know why you make such a concentrated effort to defy me, Jerome."

Lila doesn't know she's going to die, so it matters a lot more to her that he didn't pull out. Jerome's post-orgasmic bliss is usually cut oh so short, but he feels it now. He can't be upset. He can't be angry. Jerome feels light as a feather, because he's going to kill her. 

Jerome sees the fresh fingerprints on Lila's throat and he shifts forward, kneeling between Lila's legs. He licks his lips and tilts his head. "I would've gotten a nasty rancid dick from you no matter what I did. Whatever's inside you would've melted rubber right down before I even started humping you."

Jerome expects the spit in his face and the cigarette burn on his arm, so it doesn't hurt too much. He even likes the spit in his face. While his skin turns an angry, rotten, aching pink, he watches Lila's mouth move, hurling words at him that he doesn't hear. 

Jerome is going to kill her. God's in His Heaven, all's right with the world. He read that in a book somewhere once.


End file.
